Page 22 of Warrior Witch
“What are you smiling at? Let’s get going so we can get back out in the fresh air. It’s claustrophobic down here.”
“Naww… Is someone scared of small spaces? Would you rather go back to being locked in the trunk?”
The flat look he sent me caused a chuckle to bubble out of my throat. It wasn’t my fault he was fun to goad. When he refused to dignify my teasing with a response, I sighed and pushed the door open to reveal a long passage carved into the bedrock. There were metal sconces with large clear crystals set into the walls at head height, and as I stepped through the door, the crystals closest flared to life, casting a warm yellow light around the immediate area.
Bruin coughed, then sneezed, sending me a look through bloodshot eyes that clearly said he wasn’t impressed. So it was a little dusty. There was a whole lot of history in this town and, just maybe, an answer to this pesky quest that my survival seemed to depend upon.
No pressure.
“You could have waited upstairs with the others, you know.”
I hazarded a glance at my annoying sidekick and clenched my jaw at the wicked smirk on his face. Why did the guy trying to kill me have to be so damn good looking? It wasn’t fair. From the scar through his thick, dark eyebrow to his tatted-up body, the man was made for sex. Maybe I’d go there if I could find a ball gag big enough to fit his annoying mouth.
“Did you get a good enough look?”
Shit. Rule number one: Don’t get caught ogling the delicious bad guy.
Instead of answering, I chose a direction at random and moved farther into the catacombs. Crystals lit up as I approached, and behind us, I could see them fading back into darkness as they were no longer needed. Magic was so cool.
Small pockets had been carved into the walls, and while most were empty, some had small trinkets. A metal bowl, a horse carved from wood, each item was crafted with impressive skill considering the age of the town. Despite being made in a time before laser cutting and 3D printing, the detail was exquisite.
Around a slight curve in the tunnel, we came across another door. As I laid my hand on the aged wood, I got the sense I wasn’t welcome. The feeling wasn’t aggressive, but it was insistent, so I moved past as Bruin came to a halt in front of it.
“You don’t want to go in?” He arched a brow at me, his dark eyes challenging.
“I’m not welcome. If you want to try, knock yourself out.”
He turned toward the door, and I couldn’t help but add, “No, really. Do me a favor and knock yourself out so I can explore in peace.”
He rolled his eyes and braced his hands, putting his weight into trying to open what could have been a very locked door. Instead of watching him flex all of his stupid, lickable muscles, I wandered over to yet another nook carved into the wall. This one had fabric piled haphazardly on the ledge, like it had been left by someone in a hurry who planned to return to it shortly. It was soft to touch, the rich purple color as vibrant as if it had been dyed yesterday. I pulled it slowly from its resting place, flinching as something heavy hit my foot.
A book.
Spreading the fabric out, I discovered I was holding a robe. Something you would expect to see on Sarah Jessica Parker in Hocus Pocus as she sang to lure children to their death. Real witches didn’t prey on the young and innocent.
I glanced behind me to where Mr. Meathead MC was still trying to force the door to do his bidding. Mostly. Stooping to retrieve the book, I flipped open the cover to find a neat line of handwriting stating the book I held was the Journal of Melisande Nightshade. The pages warmed under my hand as I flicked through them, noting each was filled with carefully formed words written in a beautiful cursive hand. Toward the center, one page was folded haphazardly, the paper bent and bent again as though it had been closed in a rush. I flipped to it, gently smoothing it flat and paused at the messy scrawl. We who are Cursed.
“What do you have there?”
The deep voice startled me. Whipping the book behind my back, I sprung to my feet, spinning to face the very definition of frenemy.
“Nothing. Did the door defeat you? Try giving it a good kick to show it who’s boss.”
“Funny.” He narrowed his eyes at me, taking a step closer.
“I found a couple of grimoires stacked over there. Thought it might come in handy if you’re searching for a curse breaker.”
I glanced in the direction he pointed, wondering if he could be right, then flinched as he took another step that officially invaded my personal space.
“Look at me being all helpful and shit. Now, why don’t you tell me what you got there?”
I wanted to hate how I had to crane my neck to keep eye contact, but the way his breath ghosted over my lips warmed me in unwelcome, yet thrilling ways. Perhaps it had been too long since I last got laid, if every man I came across made me want to jump their bones, but I was woman enough to admit that both Kylen and Bruin did it for me. An image of both of them ‘doing it for me’ at the same time flitted through my mind, and I forced myself to take a step back.
Clearing my throat and decidedly ignoring how damp my panties seemed to have become, I turned under the guise of continuing my search. A large hand wrapped around my bicep, and in the next instant, my back hit the stone wall. Bruin boxed me in, standing so close my nipples brushed his chest as I inhaled sharply, ready to let loose with an acerbic remark. The words froze on my tongue as he dropped his lips to my ear.
“You’re the one who wanted us to play nice, Sparky. And I can be very nice if I want to be. I could make your last days mind-numbingly fucking wonderful right up until I kill you. I bet you’d even thank me for it. Now tell me, little witch”—he tucked a finger under my chin, lifting my face so his lips hovered a whisper above mine—“Are you wet for me?”
Every cell in my body wanted to nod. To let him lift me against the wall so I could ride him hard. Especially as he flexed his hips, pressing his hard length against my stomach and proving he was ready and willing.